


Chiaroscuro

by redibis



Series: Absolute and New [2]
Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Homophobia, M/M, Podfic Available, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redibis/pseuds/redibis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the birth and second birth of Kieren Walker. </p><p>Podfic available: [<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2380151">x</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro

I

You were born:

Your mother cried,

Glad that the world

Had been given such a gift.

Dad rang half the town,

Said to meet him at the Legion,

Bought everyone a pint,

Shared cigars with the whole bar—

So proud he was, like

An overfull hot air balloon.

Jemima was born:

You were four years old

And had never seen anything

So small or beautiful.

They brought her home from hospital;

Dad knelt in front of you,

Looked into your moon-big eyes

And said,

"Would you like to hold her?

She's tougher than she looks,

But be very careful."

He handed her to you (she

Seemed much bigger in your arms,

And heavier than you thought).

You touched your stubby reverent fingers

To her forehead,

Brushed her wispy mousy hair back,

And she smiled at you

For the first time.

 

II

You met Rick Macy in middle school:

The back of his head

Was one of the first things

You learned to draw by memory alone.

One day he stopped you in the corridor,

Pierced you through with just his eyes,

Said, "What you always staring for,

Ren Walker?" So you, stammering,

With shaking hands, showed him.

He said, "Regular Picasso, aren't you?"

Without a hint of schoolboy cruelty:

Genuinely, kindly impressed

At those messy biro scribbles

You had never meant anyone to see.

Your stomach had never jumped

Quite like that before.

One day he let you sketch him

In charcoals. He fidgeted

The whole time, foot tapping,

Couldn't seem to sit still,

So anxious he was to see

The final product. Once

You dabbled disastrously in oils, once

In watercolors that wrinkled the page

When they finally dried. Once

He wiped a smudge of coloured chalk

Off your cheek with the pad

Of his thumb and you thought

You might die right then,

The way the lightning pace

Of your heartbeat

Threatened to thundercrack

Your chest open.

 

III

He adored football, race cars,

Rockets, guns, maths,

Your little sister, Mum's beef roast,

And you. Even though you were

Nothing special, just a skinny kid

Who was too into whatever music

Made old Mrs Lamb's eyes go wide

With staunch Protestant indignation.

He smiled when you showed him

Radiohead, the Ramones,

The Sex Pistols— proper laugh there—

Morrissey, the Cure, Fall Out Boy.

The Macy father

Did not find it all so amusing:

His only son, led astray

By a haloed heathen

With crumbling dry paint

Under his bitten-down fingernails.

There Rick stood, head bowed,

Almost ashamed, hands clasped

Prayerfully behind his back

As Bill Macy threatened you

With the broken halves

Of a compact disc.

From then on things were different:

You spoke in secret notes,

Teenage boys' dead letter drops,

Paying off friends in sweets and spare change

To deliver messages of devotion,

Hand to God, amen.

But that

Didn't stop you. Nothing could:

You were meant to be together—

Fate had brought you together—

And you knew you could never bear

Having to sketch someone else

In such delicate, careful strokes.

You had a thousand days

Of secret togetherness;

Four birthday parties with just your family.

One night, with no one around but Mother Earth,

You asked him to go away with you:

He took your artist's hand

In his rough farm boy's one,

And said yes, I will, yes.

Then: he joined the service.

Jealousy was your first reaction:

How could Queen and Country

Mean more to him than you?

He promised forever

And only gave you

Three or four nights of it.

Then: he died.

Everything

Went to shit.

An IED, it was.

Side of the road.

It killed him and

His Army mates

Instantly. Never

Saw it coming.

 

IV

Bill Macy had frozen your blood,

Stuck your feet to the spot with his roar,

And you still hadn't felt such fear.

 

V

You let yourself be angry with him

For all of fifteen minutes.

Then cold calculation took over—

Meticulous, an artist's planning,

Working over the composition

Until he gets it just right—

And you started to think

What on Earth you could do.

You couldn't be a person on your own.

 

VI

You promised yourself

One last day with everyone—

Mum, Dad, Jem— because that

Was what Rick would have wanted;

He loved your family. You'd

Watch the sunset alone—

One last sunset, alone—

Then go down the cave

And do what wanted doing.

You thought about

Doing it in the Macy barn,

But you didn't want

To give him the satisfaction,

The bastard.

 

VII

The day dragged on (like

Waiting for Harry Potter at midnight,

Only with less of a reward

When the clock finally chimed).

You almost lost your nerve

When Jem came home from school,

But you stuck it out.

Told Mum you'd be going for a walk;

"Back before dinner, Kier," she said.

You grabbed your coat on the way out—

Stupid, not like you'd need it.

 

VIII

The sunset was like

Every other sunset.

The cave was

Just a cave

With just you in it.

You settled into the dirt inside,

Leaned against the wall,

Your breath coming out in clouds

In the chill of the evening.

You didn't plan on coming back.

The knife bit into your wrist,

A starved wild animal with

Its own agenda. You almost dropped it:  
  
You didn't realise it had been

So hungry.

A storm gusted outside (you were glad

You'd brought your coat after all).

Even though you liked asymmetry,

Preferred things that leaned toward

One side or the other, you

Kept on, balanced the wide long slash

With another. You did drop it then;

Your fingers wouldn't stay tight

Around the bright red handle.

The last thing you remember thinking,

As relief swallowed you up

In light and shadow, was,

_Well now that's done: and I'm glad_

_It's over._

 

IX

Your father came looking

When you were late to dinner.

He carried you back to the house.

Mother Earth washed your hands

With rain water. Too late.

Your mother cried because

You had taken such a gift

From the world.

Jem didn't speak for weeks.

 

X

You didn't plan on coming back,

But you did. You were a knife,

A bludgeon, an IED, destruction,

The Living One who was dead.

Such a storm blew; Mother Earth

Bathed the grave dirt from you.

The moon shone like

A goddess' winking eye.

The others rose up around you,

And you saw her, struggling,

Muddy ground still

Clasping her round the waist,

A lover unwilling to part.

You helped her up; you touched

Your cracked-nail fingers

To her forehead, brushed

Her tangled curly brown hair away,

And she smiled at you

For the first time.

You didn't know hunger:

You knew gnawing,

Scratching, clawing,

White pain, threatening

To rip open your animal belly

From the inside.

The screaming itch

You couldn't erase.

It only stopped when

You broke them open,

Ate of the fruit, juice dripping

Down your arms,

Staining your sour mouth

Pomegranate red.

There was a girl

With her hands on

Her big silver gun.

She took

One hand off

Her big silver gun,

Turned, ran.

 

XI

You woke up in hospital.

Rick Macy was still dead;

You still felt hollow

On the inside,

Burned-out shell,

Bombed-out stomach.

 

XII

You hadn't planned on coming back.

 

XIII

The light shined in the darkness,

And the darkness did not blot it out.


End file.
